


Terminal Velocity

by Mangacat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Cognitive Dissonance, Community: hc_bingo, Dissociation, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-07
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-02-20 06:16:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2418080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mangacat/pseuds/Mangacat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Velocity is defined as the rate of change of position with respect to time. </p>
<p>The Winter Soldier doesn't move at a pace with the rest of the world, for him, time is either that much slower or that much faster. Until the events unfold that are unstoppable and call into question his very existence.</p>
<p>They start with one man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terminal Velocity

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is a oneshot I wrote to tide me over a seriously long spell of work, and I'm aware that it's a bit rough around the edges because I'm seriously sleep-deprived right now. The outsider-POV is a bit of a fake-out, technically, but I found it fascinating to write from this character's perspective, you'll see what I mean. It's also a fill for my hc_bingo square: unconsciousness (even though I took the prompt in a very original way). Great thanks belong to my trusted beta candygramme, who picked out a shit-ton of transcription typos, thanks hun! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t any character or plots in the MCU and don’t make a claim to its creative or economic profit. Just shoveling in the sandbox for a bit, I’ll give them back after playing. Promise.

It ends with that moment on the riverbank, waters disturbed by carnage lapping at the shore.  
 _Or so the asset thinks right then._

It starts with a single word.  
 _Bucky?_  
 _Or that’s what the asset is able to pinpoint as the first point of contact._

There are times in cryostasis when there is more than icy sleep. There is a certain kind of muted awareness. It hasn’t always been this way. The asset’s working theory is that the handlers don’t appreciate the period of erratic and unpredictable reactions to prolonged suspended animation. Once he is brought out of stasis, the asset is expected to reach operational capacity in a reasonably short timeframe, so they take him almost out from time to time. The asset does not have any expectations towards the use of his time beyond receiving mission briefs and orders. So these brief times of lighter sleep are the only occasions when he finds himself idle and wandering in his own mind. It’s there he’s found the dark spot, like a wall of stained mirror glass, spider-webbed with thousands of cracks. The asset prowls in front of it, pokes at it sometimes, has even contemplated smashing it with his metal fist. 

But there are those instances when he walks from side to side and feels his awareness flare from the attention of an outsider. And when he turns, there is no reflection but the asset’s, but it feels like his eyes have been on him before he meets them in the mirror. It creates unease which the asset cannot categorize, because it is not a required operational state. That, combined with the fact that the fissures in the glass crackle with electricity at his touch, keeps the asset from trying to get behind it. It is inconsequential to his functionality status topside, a minor irritant he simply monitors.

Then the latest mission goes pear-shaped in a way that’s never happened before. Sure, tactical retreat is as much part of the asset’s arsenal as a bullet in his rifle or the wicked edge of a blade, but he has never had to abort a mission because he was so personally, fundamentally compromised by a target. The voice of the man on the bridge tugs loose some shards in the mirror wall and some _thing_ reaches through. Makes the asset’s metal fist lash out, slips words onto his lips that have no place there; defies a direct order.

It’s not before there’s the sharp sting of a slap that the asset regains his faculties enough to accept his orders while the other slithers back behind the wall, howling in fright. The asset wonders if now is the time to disclose his observations, which after all these years, he has kept out of debriefs and post-cryo evaluations, mostly because it felt impossible to describe something for which he had no actual frame of reference. But the white hot surge of electricity seals the cracks and blurs the thought to faded background noise. The asset is able to completely focus on mission briefs and readjusted threat levels again, and it is high time, for the endeavour that is the culmination of all efforts can only reach critical mass within the required timeline if the targets of his new mission are neutralized with great prejudice. 

~*~

The asset does not revel in the efficiency with which the enemy aircraft shatter and the inferior footmen fall at his hands. That is not part of his programming. But he acknowledges his return to undisturbed operational capacity with a detached satisfaction. The asset has many talents. He has been told enough times that the knowledge tides over his various blank slates. But what puts him above all the other highly trained professional operatives in the ranks is this:  
The asset does not question orders, does not falter, does not _fail_.

So when Captain America meets him on the gangway and launches into his spiel about the righteousness of his mission, it does not spark something or sway the asset. It is nothing but the revelation of a tactical advantage. The asset is well aware that their fighting capabilities are evenly matched, but in the end, sentiment and the human condition is what is going to bring him down. Brings all of them down. 

The asset fights to fulfil his mission, the target fights to save humankind. It should not give him an edge, but he attacks and parries messily, and with the desperation of a man seconds away from the end of his world. There is power in that, too. 

Time speeds up and slows down at the same time as they clash like titans in the belly of the mighty warship and end up grappling for the chip that the target is trying to get into the mainframe at all costs. The asset manages to slip the target’s grip once, but clearly his opponent has done some threat assessment of his own. The weapon ends up immobilized under the target’s strong thigh and the asset can’t find any leverage to escape the chokehold. He does not fear for his own life or even care beyond losing the ability to complete his mission, but as his vision fades, the dark spot stirs, cracks widening and shards dropping into the suffocating darkness. 

It doesn’t take long for the asset to regain consciousness, but he is not surprised that he is still alive. Still, he doesn’t waste time, drawing his gun and acquiring the target in one smooth motion. He shoots, heedless of the thundering engines and the steadily ascending flight, certain of his ability to lock onto the target with standard precision. The target jerks from the impact and falls against the mainframe. It’s a testament to another one of the asset’s talents, one he is much praised for.  
The asset does not hesitate. He does not _miss_.

So when the target drags himself up to place the last chip into the console and then slides down facing the asset, icy cold curdles in his gut. A rapidly widening stain of blood blooms in the center of the target’s abdomen, all the way through his red, white and blue’s. It’s a cruel wound that would kill an ordinary human within minutes without immediate medical attention. The asset does not inflict such injuries – he makes kill-shots, at the base of the spine or center mass through the back into the heart, where this bullet was headed. 

Before the asset can shake the shock of his body betraying him, fingers having jerked on the trigger in a way that set the projectile just a little bit off course, the helicarriers open fire on each other, and he is pinned beneath falling steel and unable to move while the large aircraft breaks apart around him. The asset is wired against self-destructive behaviour, drilled to preserve his handler’s most effective weapon, so he continues to struggle to get free, despite the crushing weight on his body compounding the fractures in his mind. 

When the target drops down next to him to try and heave up the steel beam even though he is bleeding from multiple wounds, the asset can do nothing but wonder how everyone could have underestimated his singular and personal importance to the Captain. It takes his mission status from failed with a high probability of termination for the Winter Soldier to active with a possibly successful completion. The target does not fight properly anymore, not like he did when the fate of the world was at stake. Instead, he all but bares this throat, pleading with the asset – imploring towards a person that no longer exists.  
 _…hasn’t ever existed._

It enrages the asset in a way he cannot remember ever experiencing. Shouldn’t know how to feel. He takes it out on the target, smashing his fist into his face with brutal strength, because he feels himself slipping with increasing speed. Something is getting out from the inside, wresting control over the asset’s body from him limb from limb, until his vision flickers. He screams at his target to drown out the rising tide in his own head, but it is unstoppable. And what should have been Captain Rogers’ last words on earth turn into a razor sharp blade, slicing the last shred of agency away from the asset and freezing the weapon in the middle of the last, lethal blow, while the machine around them is coming apart at the seams and hurtling towards the ground with the exponential acceleration of a great mass that’s no longer equipped to defy the laws of physics. 

The asset feels like a man possessed, trapped in a nightmare vision of a life and times that is not possible, but feels real, like nothing he has felt for ages. When the structure beneath the target falls away and the Captain plunges towards the murky depths of the river below, the asset uses the last little bit of control he exerts over his own body and hooks the weapon’s fingertips to the crossbeam above his head. But the further the Captain falls, the louder the sound gets in the asset’s head, like the whistling rush of air and a horrific scream. The Fall. 

And there is terror like nothing the asset could have ever imagined, gripping his insides and affording him the current suspension in the air. But there is the Captain, and he is plunging towards the murky waters faster and faster, and when he hits the surface, is swallowed up by the river, the paralysing fear of falling that has the asset’s mind and body in its claws is only surpassed by the visceral panic that chants _Steve, Steve, Steve…_ The asset can feel the metal joints in his fingers loosen one by one as he is completely relegated to becoming a passenger in his own body. 

The next thing the asset knows is the sound of the river lapping at the shallow banks, and the Captain’s slowly rising chest. His … _their_ brain is still lit up with the adrenaline of the fight, of the fall, but the asset has gained enough understanding of his body’s new workings to be able to vie for control again. He pushes the other aside to make them go regroup, debrief, come into the cold, whatever might happen next. The other pushes back though, he wants to stay, wants to watch the Captain’s chest rise and fall until someone forces them away. But the other is young, feeble and exerted himself during the monumental effort of breaking through the wall and rescuing Steve Rogers. It will be some time before he can go up against the asset again in earnest. 

Still, the wall is broken, the new world is in shambles, so he leaves, loathing the elation he feels about the target lying on the shore with shallow breaths and blood sluggishly flowing, still alive. But the asset has a name now, that will lead him to discover what he needs to about the new adversary he found in his own head. It will enable him to eradicate his existence. 

Every picture, and every little detail revealed of a history that cannot possibly be his life, but must be all the same, makes the other stronger though; evokes feelings and sensations he can’t remember experiencing, but knows all the same. And the asset begins to wonder, inundated by the amount of friendship, love and trust gathered for this one man, who should not be anything special but is, whether _he_ is the one that is twisted and wrong. Whether the _mission_ is wrong. 

The asset is not yet ready to give up fighting though and runs, runs as fast and as far as he possibly can.

Until Steve catches up, and Bucky wakes up.


End file.
